


Into Deathsleep Sling Me

by awenswords



Series: Voltron One-Shots [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Death, M/M, Mentions of the other paladins - Freeform, Sadness, Violence, implied klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awenswords/pseuds/awenswords
Summary: ///Stars poke small bright holes in the darkness, and Lance faces the expanse of the universe. It's breathtaking. He moves in a soft, slow circle, eyes wide. Moving his arms like he's treading water.///An execution in space.





	Into Deathsleep Sling Me

Lance lays where he was thrown, unmoving, trying not to provoke her. She flicks red blood off of her hands - his blood. Every day she comes back, although he hopes that she won't. She has knives hidden in the pockets of her jacket, buzzing instruments with electricity humming through them, needles with mysterious liquids that burn him from the inside out.

Mostly she uses her fists.

She strips the gloves off of her hands, letting them fall to the floor next to Lance's head, "That will be all for today, Paladin," she says calmly.

"Fuck you," Lance ties to say, but his throat is swollen and red from when she wrapped her hands around his throat until the world slipped away, and he thought he was dying. Again. He thinks that a lot.

She walks away, out of the room, Lance sees her white boots rounding the corner. They're splattered with blood and vomit.

The door clangs shut behind her.

Lance makes no move to stand, he's shaking now, convulsing, retching dryly.

His arm is twisted at an angle, bone protruding under the skin, grotesque, and he feels acid in his throat. Tears are dripping sticky-slow down his cheeks. His teeth are gritted against the pain. Scratches pepper his wrist, from yesterday and the day before and every other day since he got here. Hair is sticking to the blood on his face, drying there, his head pressed against the floor and it's pool of blood and tears.

The bones in his right hand are shattered.

He'd be a useless Paladin now.

Eventually, he slips out of consciousness.

/ / / /

It's almost a relief when the Galra finally decide the day has arrived.

Almost.

It's also disappointing, and terrifying. The sort of terror that chills his veins and sends his chest heaving. At least he has the consolation that he told them nothing.

When he wakes up, the Galra are on either side of him. Gloved hands around his arms in a steel vice. They're somber, not even bothering to kick the boy as he limps along and struggles, weakly. It's obvious that he's losing strength, both by the dimness in his eyes and the bloody footprints that he leaves.

Lance is also sure that the Galras' stoic posturing is only intended to make him more terrified. His heart is pounding, head spinning. Dizzy from blood loss and wounds gathered from days of torture. Days under the blade, days of screaming and vomiting blood on the pristine floor. It's only a routine now, every morning they drag him from his cell, some days it's worse than others, but lately, he falls unconscious before he's even halfway down the hall. His legs give up on him.

His bare feet ache as they collide with the cold floor, a chill against bruised callouses.

"This is it?" Lance mutters, looking up through strands of dirty red hair, "The end of the line?"

One of the Galra chuckles, shoving him forward a few steps.

He bites his tongue and tastes blood, sharp and metallic, it makes him cough and sputter thick red liquid onto the floor. His face is a meaty pulp, lip split open, bruises forming over old, yellowed ones and recently swelling.

"Don't ask questions." It says simply, stepping back and letting the other two drag him into a cold, metal room. Lance is gasping and retching now, though, and the hollow abyss of space opens up through a window, cold stars lightyears away, drifting planets unreachable. No one to save him. 

They resume their march, completely carrying the teenager. His legs drag on the floor, head down and arms twisted at an unnatural angle that sends shards of pains through his shoulders. His hair is sticking to the blood that covers his face. Lance's bare legs leave streaks of blood on the floor. One ankle is twisted and damaged beyond repair, both legs are a mess of knife wounds and swollen.

The Galra drag Lance over a threshold and throw him in the airlock.

His heart pounds as his body collapses.

His fingers scrabble for a hold as the door closes.

He breathes frantic inhalations, quick exhales, hot air. He flies through his memories, searching for some sort of warmth to combat the oncoming chill. How long does it take to die in space?

He's leaving blood on the wall now, breaking his fingernails as he drags himself up, slumps against the door and frantically claw at the small, rectangular window. Any ounce of acceptance has vanished, replaced by cold terror.

Then he's in space.

**00:00**

Fear. Heart beating fast. He's weightless, floating, eyes open.

It's beautiful out here.

**00:01**

Stars poke small bright holes in the darkness, and Lance faces the expanse of the universe. It's breathtaking. He moves in a soft, slow circle, eyes wide. Moving his arms like he's treading water.

**00:02**

There are so many things he misses. His mother's hugs, the sweetness of wild blackberries in the summer, the heat of sand between his toes, his Abuela's melodic Spanish.

**00:03**

Staying up until two AM playing Atari games with Pidge. Hunk's homemade desserts. The shine of Allura's earrings. Shiro's quiet support. Keith's easy banter.

**00:04**

Keith. _Fuck._

The thought sends warmth blossoming through Lance's chest.

Black hair, small smiles, a hand on the small of his back, sparring in the Castle - sweat and bruises and blood. Nighttime talks, exhausted on the bridge, stolen moments of saccharine grins and soft eyes. 

**00:05**

He loses is breath in a sharp sigh, and there's a shuddering moment when he realizes there is nothing for him to inhale.

**00:06**

His heart rate is slowing now.

**00:07**

He hopes the other Paladins are able to save everyone.

**00:08**

He hopes his family survives whatever is to come.

**00:09**

He can't move. He's frozen, drifting, eyes locked open. Muscles stone-still. His skin swells painfully, blistering and burning. He sees bruises blossom across his hands and exposed arms. Frostbite laces across his skin, his eyes glazing over. His nose chills. His vision spins away.

**00:10**

Lance's body is jerked back into motion, convulsing. Pain shoots through his limbs, terrifying and sharp. He's shaking, twitching, chest trembling.

**00:11**

The convulses are replaced by paralysis. He's drifting now, skin going blue.

**00:11**

Lance was never scared of death, not really. He feard a life not worth living, a slow existence - dragging along each day.

**00:12**

He's grateful for the past years, seeing beautiful planets, meeting amazing people and stunning creatures.

**00:13**

He can feel his saliva boiling, burning his tongue. Then it's dry and freezing cold.

**00:14**

For a moment, when he feels his mind slipping away, the darkness truly consuming him, he regrets it. His life. Being here. A moment of rage, that the Blue Lion had to choose him.

Then sadness, that he missed a simple life on Earth.

The chill seeps into his bones.

He wanted a family, kids, more sunrises and more sunsets.

The cold digs into his mind.

**00:15**

But he can't really regret anything. It was worth it, wasn't it? It was...

**00:16**

....


End file.
